Slaughterhouse, niggas C.O.B
Our circle, the power circle, the G-O-D’s
Got a hustle that’s ’bout as grand as B.o.B’s
Ya don’t think so? Negro por favor
I’m so fly like I’ve never seen a floor before
You’re fucking with a solider like putting a in war
God of the west, I’m going door to door
Handing out pamplets and them beliivers growing more and more
You don’t think my flow is nothing nice
Middle finger from your birth certificate to your death certificate, fuck ya life
And fuck a hoe, I only cuff a mic
With my chest out, like augmentation like when your wife come from under knife
I’m a bastard, it’s my dad’s fault
Me and my enemies face off like Nicholas Cage, Travolta and bath salt
357 Black Hawk, better take your facial mask off
You shoulda backed off, now your back is on asphalt
Back to the rap talk, this lyrics shit we regulate
We drop my life to celebrate,
Coming courtesy of Shady, the heavy weight
Then I’mma drop a Crooked album to set the record straight
Set the record straight
Fuck niggas, let em hate
The power circle nigga
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